


On the Other Side

by piperholmes



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Brotps, Childbirth, F/M, Fluff, a glimpse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 21:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13419555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piperholmes/pseuds/piperholmes
Summary: A small moment in Phillip’s life as he deals with the dichotomy of joy and fear that is being stuck on the other side of the door.





	On the Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> Just a Drabble. Once I finish FTOBP I have another small series I want to write around this particular topic but for now it’s just a silly little drabble that is just one possible glimpse into Phillip and Anne’s life together. (In other words just a random bit of writing ^_^)

Phillip was not handling it well.

It had been so quiet before and he thought that was awful, but now, now he could hear her pain and he wasn’t sure if he didn’t prefer the silence.

“You’ve done this twice?” He asked, his voice hitting a higher range than normal.

Nothing felt normal right now.

P.T. Barnum smirked and shrugged before throwing back a shot of whiskey. He grimaced at the burning taste then refilled the tiny glass, handing it to the younger man

“Here kid,” he offered. “Trust me. There’s no fixing the way you’re feeling right now. The best you can do is try and numb it some.”

Phillip’s hand shook slightly as he waved the offered drink away.

At Barnum’s raised eyebrow, Phillip answered, “I promised Anne I wouldn’t…after…”

The vague explanation hung between the two men but P.T.’s gaze flew to the scar that had cut across the skin of Phillip’s jaw.

“Fair enough,” he said, turning and handing the glass to Anne’s brother. “But don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

Phillip began pacing, his fingers once again going through the thick mass of hair, which now poked every which way. He looked much younger right now. His normally well groomed appearance—a lifetime of valets and tutors instructing him on the art and artistry of a gentleman’s demeanor—under siege by the fear and uncertainty that hid behind the closed bedroom door. He looked much younger. And much older.

He looked terrified.

Another cry echoed through the small home.

“Anne,” he breathed.

He moved towards the door, only to be grabbed roughly by Phin; W.D, moving to block his path.

He tried to shove away from his friend but was caught off guard by the surprisingly firm grip of the older man.

“Phillip, don’t.”

“Can’t you hear her?!” he cried, the day’s worth of anxiety exploding free.

“Of course I can. You will always hear her. You’ll always be on the other side of the door, listening for every cry, every scream, every breath.”

P.T. held tight to Phillip’s arms, now a moment of strength rather than restraint. “But there’s nothing you can do,” he finished softly, sadly. “You’ll just be in the way. You’ll distract her from what she needs to be doing. The midwife will call you when it’s time.”

Phillip forced the tension out of his shoulders, prompting Barnum to release him.

Another desperate moan sounded and Phillip shook his head. He again began to move out of the small study the three men had taken refuge when it had all began, standing face to face with his brother-in-law.

“Phillip.” It was said gently, but the warning was clear.

He paused. “What if something is wrong? It’s been so long. What if—-“

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Barnum interrupted.

“I can’t help it,” Phillip whispered. “I can’t…what if I lose her? I can’t—“

“I know you can’t,” P.T. said. “I know you can’t. You can’t help but think those terrible things. You’re a husband now, soon to be a father. You’re always going to be thinking those things. But you can’t say them Phillip. If you start saying them then you’ll never stop.”

“How have you done this twice?” Phillip asked again, this time truly needing an answer.

“I didn’t do anything kid, it was all her.”

Phillip merely nodded. “I won’t go in.”

W.D.’s haze met Barnum’s and at the older man’s nod stepped out of the way.

Phillip slowly made his way upstairs, ignoring the heat of the two men’s eyes on him. It felt like every creak of the wooden stairs was mocking his attempts at control, mirror the distress he heard again and again. He soon found himself outside their bedroom door, a frenzied panic barely held in check. He didn’t know how long he stood there, listening to each cry, each whimper, each plea for relief, until he lost all strength, his back pressed to the door as he slid to the floor.

At some point P.T. and W.D. had joined him. Sitting across the hall, a look of unhindered pity from one and a well-guarded concern from the other, though neither said anything.

Phillip could hear the commands of the midwife clearly, vacillating between the unrelenting and the tender. He could hear Charity Barnum’s soft tones, though he couldn’t quite make out what she was saying.  
And he heard his wife.

Her distress rang in his ears, his heart, his soul, and all he could do was clutch at his chest.

“Phillip?”

His name came so softly, so suddenly, he wasn’t quite sure he’d heard it at all.

The it came again.

“Phillip?”

He scrambled to his knees, face to face with the doorknob.

“Anne?” he called back.

“Phillip?” His name came out as a moan.

“I’m here,” he insisted. “I’m here Anne.”

Her voiced was drowned out by the other women, instructing, directing.

He heard a gut-wrenching, anguished protest.  
And then it was quiet.

“What…what is it? What’s happening?” Phillip blurted out, whipping around to look at Barnum, his blue eyes wide, frantic.

Barnum shushed him, his brow lowered, and the three men sat silent, listening.

And then it came.

The gurgled cry.

Phillip felt the floor shift beneath his knees.

“The baby?” He asked stupidly and the other men nearly laughed.

“The baby,” W.D. confirmed.

Phillip scrambled to his feet, his hand going for the knob.

“Phillip wait—“

But before the rebuke was out of his mouth the door opened and Charity’s exhausted, but beaming face and blonde hair poked out.

“Anne?” was all Phillip could get out.

“Doing wonderfully.”

At her declaration, Phillip nearly stumbled back with relief. “Can I see her? Please?”

“She still needs cleaning up, but she’s insisting you get to come in. The midwife is quite scandalized but I figured you two are used to doing that to people by now.”

Phillip didn’t seem to even hear anything beyond ‘come in’ as he pushed passed her as politely as his desperation could muster.

Charity threw her husband a big smile and a wink before shutting the door once again.

“Well, seems you’re an uncle Mr. Wheeler.”

“Seems I am Mr. Barnum.”  
The two men shook hands heartily.

“And heaven help us if they have anymore,” quipped Barnum.

“Amen to that,” D.W. agreed, an uncontained grin on both men’s faces.


End file.
